


Blowing Smoke

by ros3bud009



Category: Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers Animated (2007)
Genre: (well space marijuana), Age Difference, Drug Use, M/M, Marijuana, Oral Sex, Shotgunning, sex while high
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-20
Updated: 2018-09-20
Packaged: 2019-07-14 14:36:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,682
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16042439
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ros3bud009/pseuds/ros3bud009
Summary: “Ok, I’ll give you that I probably shouldn’t try to use the bong again. But maybe you could shotgun me?”Optimus needs a break, recreational drugs are done, Ratchet is old and that's a-ok.





	Blowing Smoke

**Author's Note:**

> Alternative title: Lemon Diesel
> 
> Listen I just wanted more TFA Ratch/OP, some good sexy shotgunning, and TFA Ratchet getting the love he fucking deserves

“You need to take a break.”

Optimus frowned over his shoulder and already Ratchet could see the resistance he had expected.

“I had my break earlier–”

“Don’t mean a shift break and you know it,” Ratchet insisted, crossing his arms to make it clear he wasn’t interested in an argument.

Optimus had been running himself ragged again and Ratchet was done watching the young mech push himself closer and closer to the breaking point. With everything they had to deal with, the last thing any of them needed was for their Prime to finally crumple under the pressure he put on himself.

Too young to not still have plenty mistakes ahead of him to make and learn from, and yet too stubborn and prideful to accept that fact, holding himself to impossible standards.

Ratchet had been haranguing Optimus for nearly a week now and Optimus had dismissed Ratchet’s concerns at every turn. But not today. Today Ratchet was going to make the Prime take a fragging night off, even if he had to strap him down to make it happen.

Though, as pleasant albeit inappropriate as that thought was, Ratchet didn’t think it would come to that. Optimus was running out of arguments, and by Ratchet’s estimations all that was left was the how.

Optimus seemed to know it too as the Prime sighed, his shoulders drooping.

“Come on, bossbot. You can’t tell me you’ve never relaxed in your entire functioning,” Ratchet pushed, seeing his advantage and taking it. “It’s just one day. Go. Do whatever it is you need to do to get out of your processor for just a day and you’ll thank me afterwards.”

Finally Optimus turned away from his work screens, his bottom lip momentarily caught between his dentae before he replied, “I can’t just turn it off though. I’d just be thinking about everything without actually doing anything about it, which honestly might be worse.”

“Why do you think engex exists?” Optimus looked a bit appalled and Ratchet smirked as he continued, “Which isn’t to say that, as your medic, I’m prescribing getting overcharged. Doesn’t have to be engex. Lots of mechs get that same kind of disconnect from healthier options. Going on long drives, meditating, that kind of slag. Whatever works for you, kid.”

Optimus seemed to actually consider that, his optics losing focus as his thoughts turned inward.

After a moment, those optics brightened again, but his brows furrowed.

“Well, not that,” Optimus muttered to himself, his optics fading. However, Ratchet wasn’t about to let anything slip by.

“Ah-ah! Not  _what_?”

Optimus didn’t meet Ratchet’s gaze.

“I mean, I can’t say it’s a particularly healthy idea–”

“Let the medic decide that one, would you?”

That got a quick glance from Optimus before he looked away again, now shuffling on his pedes. “I—look, I only tried it a couple times, and I wouldn’t even know where to get any now–”

Ratchet lifted a hand to stop the Prime.

“Dross?”

Optimus only nodded once. Primus did the young Prime look chagrinned at the admission.

Ratchet, however, felt a soft smile tugging at his lips.

“I’ve got you covered, bossbot.”

* * *

Optimus’s mouth was agape as Ratchet placed the large bong in his hands – “Hold this” – and then went back into his cabinet to consider his collection of dross strains. They were all his own mixtures, each specialized for specific needs, though it had been at the very least decades since Ratchet had strayed from his usual. In his younger days Ratchet had preferred his party strains that left him giggly and energized or chill out strains that left him melting into the couch, but since the war Ratchet had found comfort in strains that eased the aches in his frame and let him recharge soundly and dreamlessly. Optimus was probably expecting something more uplifting than that though. Something giggly but laid back would probably work best—

“Ratchet?”

“Yeah, kid?”

“What,” Optimus started before audibly rebooting his vocalizer, “what are you doing with all this?”

“You’re a smart bot, Optimus. I think you can figure that one out yourself,” Ratchet replied as he picked a vial. The crystals inside shifted and rolled over each other as he considered them. Ratchet couldn’t remember the last time he had used this particular one, but the seal was air-tight and the crystals were all still intact and separate, so they would still burn well.

“So you…” Optimus trailed off, still sounding dumbstruck, and this time Ratchet chuckled.

“I’m surprised you hadn’t noticed before. Figured the smell alone would tip you off.”

With his selection made, Ratchet shut the cabinet and set the lock on again. That done he turned to Optimus who was dutifully holding the bong.

And looking rather embarrassed.

“If we’re both being honest, I thought it was Bee this whole time.”

That got a genuine full-frame laugh out of Ratchet as he waved Optimus towards his private quarters.

* * *

No doubt it was because of the associations with the pleasant high that would follow, but Ratchet could already feel his frame ease as he let the first burst of smoke cycle through his ventilation system. It required him to focus on his frame, to make sure all his vents were sealed shut and his fans ever so gently turning to keep the smoke moving, trapped once his mouth closed to seep into his lines and work its magic. It was an almost meditative process that had many a time centered him when Ratchet felt lost in his own processor.

After a few seconds Ratchet tilted his helm back to blow the smoke up towards the ceiling.

“—And that’s it. You got it?”

Optimus nodded as Ratchet handed the bong and lighter to him, though his brows were still furrowed.

“I think so. I mean, I’ve done it before, but I wasn’t any good at it.”

“Just takes practice.”

“If you say so,” Optimus said, sounding hesitant. His optics flicked from the bong up towards Ratchet’s face. “And you swear this isn’t all some elaborate trap–”

Ratchet snorted as he slapped Optimus on the shoulder. “Kid, what did you just watch me do, huh? If anyone is getting us in trouble, it’s you.”

Optimus smiled a little at that before cycling a ventilation and taking his hit.

Well. Attempting it.

Ratchet already saw the danger signs – aiming the flame over the middle of the bowl and sucking too hard – but there was no time to stop him before Optimus had set the whole bowl ablaze and overwhelmed his frame with thick, dense smoke.

“Whoa, whoa! That’s enough!” Ratchet insisted as he grabbed the bong from the Prime. It was too late though. Smoke billowed from the top of the bong as Optimus started coughing harshly, a thick haze of smoke surrounding him as his vents dumped it out as quickly as they could. Ratchet winced as he covered the top of the bong to keep the remaining smoke in and with his other servo slapped Optimus on the back to help him get it all out.

“S-sorry—I told you–” Optimus managed between coughs, though they were finally starting to slow down. Ratchet just nodded as his servo stopped patting to instead rub soothing circles.

“Yeah, yeah, I know. Luckily I don’t think you’re gonna need more than that,” Ratchet said, unable to keep from teasing as Optimus blinked at him. “Just lay back and relax, bossbot.”

With a couple more hacking coughs, Optimus let himself lay back on the berth. Ratchet had brought out his extra blankets and pillows to pile up on the slab, and while Optimus had insisted that was all unnecessary earlier, he was now grabbing a pillow to cover his face with.

Ratchet let the Prime have a moment to compose himself while the medic sucked up the left over smoke still trapped in the bong. It was thick and highly concentrated, but Ratchet’s frame accepted it with practiced ease. He hummed lightly as he let it cycle a couple times before finally letting it billow out from his vents.

Optimus was still hiding behind the pillow.

“You don’t have to be embarrassed,” Ratchet said as he set the bong aside for the moment, settling back against the pillows he had stacked against the wall. “There’s no shame in coughing when smoking.”

Optimus’s ventilations were evening out now as he said, muffled by the pillow, “You made it look so easy.”

Ratchet chuckled as he got comfortable in the little nest of pillows. “Well, sure. That bong’s older than you are, so I’ve had plenty of practice.”

The pillow finally shifted so that Optimus’s optics peered over it.

“Really?”

“Mmhm,” Ratchet hummed. He reached out towards the bong, patting it fondly. “Ol’ Faithful and I have been together since med school. I had other glassware, but she’s the only one who made it through the war with me.”

Optimus moved again, rolling onto his side while keeping the pillow close to his chest, and gazed at the bong with rapt attention.

“Wow. She’s sure seen a lot then, huh?”

Ratchet couldn’t help the way his mouth twisted into a smirk.

“Optimus. She’s still just a bong.”

Optimus’s face scrunched up, but it was more petulant than anything as he said, “Well, ok,  _yeah_ , but I mean. People say that about old things. That’s not a weird thing to say.” His lips pursed as his optics narrowed thoughtfully. “Right? I’m not just making that up?”

Ratchet just snorted as felt his lips wobble and the seemingly ever-present tightness in his chest shook loose.

Optimus groaned with embarrassment.

“Scrap. I’m already so high.”

“Damn right you are, kid.”

There was a moment of quiet before Optimus giggled.

And Ratchet mentally patted himself on the back.

* * *

It seemed silly considering his long history with dross, but Ratchet had forgotten how, well,  _silly_ he could feel when he smoked more recreational strains. It had clearly been too long since he had smoked to have fun and not just momentarily chase away pain.

But, to be fair, it wasn’t nearly as fun without someone else to be silly  _with_.

Optimus was like melted slag as he sprawled on the berth, his face lax and often curled into a soft smile about whatever they were talking about or whatever was happening on the screen that Ratchet had set up. All they really got here on Earth was the humans’ banal tv shows they called entertainment, but Ratchet had to admit that the dross was helping him to actually enjoy it some.

That and openly mocking it with Optimus. The Prime had a surprisingly sharp glossa when it was loosened up.

Not that Ratchet was thinking about Optimus’s glossa.

Much.

The occasional thought would flit through Ratchet’s processor, unhampered by his usually tight control over such thoughts. It didn’t help that the high came with some warming of his libido.

But Ratchet knew better than to think on it much. If he had the energy and desire to he could overload himself once Optimus left, but for now it was a pleasant hum that was enjoyable all on its own and that was very likely going to be the full extent of it. He didn’t feel any need to do anything about it

Primus, he really  _was_ slagging old.

Luckily that line of thought was stopped right there as Optimus’s leg dropped unceremoniously across Ratchet’s, startling him enough to jolt, optics going wide and bright.

Optimus gave him a scrap-eating grin.

“Don’t tell me Sammi and Ronnie’s newest fight isn’t holding your interest. This is obviously importantand I’d hate for you to miss any thrilling dialogue from spacing out.”

Ratchet rolled his optics, smacking Optimus on the shin as he growled, with far more fondness than he had intended, “Brat.”

And Optimus just snickered.

While it would have been impossible for Ratchet to not notice every damn day just how young all his fellow team members were, relaxation had done Optimus wonders. His expressions were open and wholly honest without any second guessing or forced professionalism. The lines of his face weren’t twisted by tension or stress, leaving them to fully showcase how very handsome the Prime was; handsome and youthful and ever so slightly mischievous as he grinned up at Ratchet.

Ratchet realized he was still touching Optimus’s shin, but couldn’t muster the energy to move it.

“But also, hey, uh, Ratchet?” Ratchet just looked at him expectantly and Optimus’s face wobbled with barely held humor. “You wanna smoke some more?”

With a snort, Ratchet patted Optimus’s leg as he replied, “You sure about that, kid? If you have another hit like that last one, I don’t think you’re gonna be able to move your struts again until morning.”

“I’ll show you moving,” Optimus argued as he lifted one of his pedes again and gracelessly aimed it at Ratchet’s face. He only laughed more when Ratchet caught it with his servo with ease and couldn’t help a chuckle of his own.

“Truly terrifying, bossbot.”

The leg was placed down next to its twin across Ratchet’s lap again, but still Optimus moved, pushing himself up just enough to brace back against his elbows.

“Ok, I’ll give you that I probably shouldn’t try to use the bong again. But maybe you could shotgun me?” Optimus asked, still smiling but his tone softened.

Not that Ratchet could even begin to parse what that might mean when his processor was addled with dross and busy coming to terms with just what, exactly, Optimus was asking him for.

“You–” Ratchet started before his mouth closed again. He could feel how his face was contorting with confusion. More than that though, he felt a pang of heat twist low in his frame. “Really?”

Optimus’s bottom lip caught between his dentae, only to be released when he shrugged and said, “I mean, it’s easier that way, isn’t it? You have better control over how much I get and it’s less harsh, so. It makes sense, right?”

It did. Shotgunning was a perfectly reasonable alternative.

Ratchet still felt his mouth go dry.

“Sure. Just give me a second to get Ol’ Faithful billowing again.”

Optimus perked up and grinned as he pushed himself up straight. His legs stayed draped over Ratchet’s but he was sat upright at least, watching with optics overbright from some mixture of his interest and his high.

“And you know how to shotgun?” Ratchet confirmed as he picked up his bong and lighter again. Some part of his processor was trying to remind him what a terrible idea this was, but it simply couldn’t compete with the almost giddy arousal simmering in Ratchet’s frame. And what harm could it really do? It would give Ratchet a rare thrill, and give Optimus the high he was seeking, and then they would settle back into their relaxed stupor without any harm done.

“Yeah. You blow it out and I suck it in.”

“Good enough,” Ratchet said. “You ready?”

Optimus’s optics managed to flare even brighter with excitement.

“Very.”

When Ratchet pulled his hit from the bong this time, he didn’t cycle it through his frame like before. Some of the smoke swirled down his intake but the majority lingered in his mouth, held there as Ratchet set the bong aside with one servo and the other reached up to coax Optimus’s face down towards his own.

There was an undeniable heat in Optimus’s optics as his full lips parted, tantalizingly close as Ratchet let the smoke in his mouth billow out to get immediately drawn into Optimus’s. Stray wisps of smoke curled up between them as, slowly but surely, Optimus pulled more and more from between Ratchet’s lips.

 _Primus_.

Finally the stream of smoke between them was practically nonexistent and Ratchet forced himself to pull back. He couldn’t however stop himself from watching as Optimus’s lips never fully sealed, instead just left slightly agape as the Prime’s frame lazily cycled the smoke through his frame. There was no coughing this time, just a nearly inaudible hum before Optimus finally let the smoke waft back out of his mouth to dissipate between them.

And something shifted. Intangible and inexplicable but very much real.

Ratchet’s array throbbed.

“See? Told you it would work,” Optimus said, lips curling at the corners, lazy and self-satisfied.

“Didn’t say I doubted you,” Ratchet replied. He was only half aware of how his glossa peaked out to wet his lips, but Optimus’s optics flicked down to watch it before finding Ratchet’s gaze again.

“I think I could handle another.”

“Don’t blame me if you get in over your head.”

“I’m a big bot,” Optimus insisted. “I know my limits.”

The metaphorical ground was slipping from beneath Ratchet faster than he could keep up, urging him to simply follow along, and the dross thrumming through his frame eased him into doing just that.

Another hit, and this time when Ratchet tilted Optimus’s face with the tips of his digits, Optimus moved in closer still, his own servo cupping the side of Ratchet’s face. Closer and closer Optimus leaned in, moving so slowly, and yet still Ratchet was surprised when their parted lips brushed as Optimus pulled the smoke from Ratchet’s frame.

Neither of them pulled away as Optimus held the smoke and then, slowly, released it to linger around their helms.

“You sure seem to know what you’re doing.”

This close, Ratchet felt like he was drowning in the brilliant glow of Optimus’s optics and the too soft gust of his ex-vent against Ratchet’s lips.

“I’ve done this a couple of times,” Optimus admitted, abashment finally managing to tint his tone.

Ratchet snorted.

“Yeah? And tell me, bossbot, how did those couple of times usually end?”

Optimus’s servo moved further, slipping around to cup the nape of Ratchet’s neck. The bravado of before gave way to earnestness.

“Want me to show you?”

 _Frag_.

Ratchet’s frame heated, eager for such a rare chance and emboldened by dross. Yet still Ratchet kept his joints locked, forcing his logic processes to keep running.

“I think you’re high and will regret it later if I let you,” Ratchet stated.

Instead of being put off, though, Optimus actually giggled, his forehelm meeting Ratchet’s.

“Ok, yeah, I’m  _definitely_ high, but also – ok, can I be totally honest for a second?” Gone was the none-too-subtle seduction, but truthfully the Prime’s goofy sincerity didn’t lessen Ratchet’s lust in the least. There was something truly lust-inducing about the genuine glee with which Optimus confessed, “I’ve  _really_ wanted to do this for a while now.”

Still, even beneath the lust and dross, uncertainty twisted in Ratchet’s tank.

“I’m just an old mech,” Ratchet point out. Because ultimately there was no denying the simple truth of the matter – Optimus was young and beautiful and full of potential. Ratchet was old and bitter and felt most days like his frame was falling apart.

Yet Optimus looked unbothered, shrugging as he grinned.

“I like old,” Optimus insisted as he started to move, his free servo bracing against Ratchet’s shoulder as he shifted his legs. He was trying with some difficulty to either straddle Ratchet’s or kneel between them – which he was aiming for was unclear. Ratchet’s frame decided for the both of them as his thighs parted and his servos helped Optimus to maintain his balance as he fitted between them like he belonged there. Once Optimus was settled, one servo trailed down Ratchet’s chest to rest atop his protruding abdominal plating while the other found its way up to Ratchet’s face, tracing the deep creases and divots of his aged protoform.

Optimus’s glossa wetted his lips before he insisted, “I really,  _really_  like old.”

Ratchet wasn’t sure what he had to say to that, but it didn’t matter since that’s when Optimus kissed him.

And  _Primus_  could the Prime kiss. It was soft and unhurried, full of sweet lips and a wicked glossa, the taste of smoke and charge thick between their mouths. Ratchet couldn’t get enough of those plush lips or how Optimus’s ventilations stuttered when he held them between his dentae and pulled.

Ratchet couldn’t be sure when his servos had found Optimus’s hips, pulling them in closer as they gave small, gentle rolls against his panel. But nonetheless he could feel the heat coming off Optimus’s array and there was little doubt the Prime could feel his in turn.

“Only feels fair I warn you that old is what you’ll get,” Ratchet said when finally Optimus moved away from his mouth to nuzzle under his chin, laving the plating with open-mouthed kisses. Ratchet’s processor was getting sluggish from the onslaught of pleasure and the haze of his high, but he pushed through even as his engine rumbled with one particularly well placed lick. “I don’t get wet like I used to and it can take perseverance to get my spike up.”

“I don’t mind,” Optimus replied, his words muffled against Ratchet’s neck. “You don’t need to get wet or hard for what I have planned. It still feels good down here, right?”

Optimus’s servo caressed the bottom edge of Ratchet’s abdominal plating, clever digits tracing the seam where it met his pelvis, and Ratchet growled lowly at the pleasure it sparked.

However, Ratchet nearly jumped out of his plating when Optimus’s digits continued to move down to cup his valve unobstructed, though Ratchet couldn’t for the life of him remember releasing his modesty panel.

“Can I take that as a yes,” Optimus teased, and despite himself, Ratchet snorted.

“You better. So what exactly is it you have planned?”

Finally Optimus pulled back from Ratchet’s neck and grinned wide and bright. His digit tips slipped between the lips of Ratchet’s valve to circle the rim once before moving higher to press against his anterior node.

“I was really hoping to eat you out, Ratchet.”

The wave of lust mixed with high flooded Ratchet’s senses.

“You’re gonna be the death of me, kid.”

* * *

Time had become a meaningless concept. Between the dross and the slow blissful torture burning his frame up from the inside out, Ratchet couldn’t tell if it had been hours or mere minutes since Optimus had slid down onto his front and first pressed his lips to Ratchet’s valve.

It didn’t matter either way, really. All that Ratchet could focus on was the perfect wet heat stroking his valve from bottom to top, lapping up what little lubricant he could produce before suckling on his anterior node until Ratchet bucked his hips and the suction was gone again. Ratchet couldn’t even get any warning regarding which part of his array would have the pleasure of experiencing Optimus’s mouth next since Optimus’s face disappeared behind the protrusion of Ratchet’s abdominal plating.

Optimus wasn’t in any hurry either. The Prime seemed to revel in the act of tasting Ratchet, humming to himself as he licked and sucked and drove Ratchet mad with waves of ecstasy while lazily grinding his own hips down against the berth. Ratchet could only imagine Optimus’s spike trapped between his frame and the berth, leaking beads of transfluid to soak into the sheets.

Ratchet’s spike twitched in Optimus’s servo, still only half pressurized but still eagerly translating every stroke and press of Optimus’s digits into pure pleasure.

And Optimus had to know full well the way he was slowly but surely building Ratchet up towards overload. He had to considering Ratchet couldn’t keep his mouth shut, rumbling curses and groans aplenty.

Ratchet reached down to where he could see Optimus’s finials poking up over his abdominal plating, grasping one carefully but firmly as a particularly loud grunt escaped him. Optimus’s engine purred and his helm tilted so his finial pressed harder into Ratchet’s hold, sucking on Ratchet’s node again in reward when Ratchet rubbed his thumb along the length.

“ _Frag_ ,” Ratchet hissed between gritted dentae as his valve throbbed. “C’mon, Optimus, I’m so close–”

The world went hazy as Optimus’s servo pulled at his spike more pointedly and his glossa stroked along Ratchet’s slit with greater pressure, stopping to mouth Ratchet’s node more often and for longer. The pleasure overwhelmed Ratchet’s drug-addled processor to the point where he could feel it lag, unable to do much at all except experience the pleasure.

When overload finally hit Ratchet’s frame seized up from the intensity of it, sharp shocks of climax shooting up his spine and narrowing his reality to the lips suckling him and bringing him sheer ecstasy.

And in the seconds or minutes or hours that passed as he came down from it, Ratchet idly wondered when he’d last had an overload like that, or if he even ever had.

And then Ratchet felt that maddening glossa lick at him again.

“Hey, that’s—frag me, that’s enough, I already overloaded,” Ratchet managed as he tugged at Optimus’s finial. There was one last long lick up Ratchet’s valve that sent a shiver up his spine before Optimus’s arms retreated from where they had made themselves comfortable around Ratchet’s thighs, and with some effort the Prime pushed up onto his elbows so he could peer at Ratchet over the girth of his abdominal plating.

His lips were pursed in a near pout.

“Well, maybe I want to give you another.”

A quick check of his chronometer confirmed for Ratchet that it hadn’t, in fact, been long endless hours since they had started. It wasn’t a short amount of time by any stretch, but not the unending swath of pleasure that Ratchet swore it had felt like. A second overload would easily take twice as long to achieve, and Ratchet considered the fact that that may actually fry his circuits for good.

“Did I mention that you’re going to be the death of me? Because if I didn’t, then this is me putting it on the record,” Ratchet insisted. Optimus still held his now fully depressurized spike, and with a flicker of his optics he leaned in to lap up the lines of transfluid that had dribbled down to pool in the crevice between Optimus’s fist and Ratchet’s soft spike. Pleasure registered in the sensors, but Ratchet’s spike didn’t so much as twitch. Ratchet tugged at Optimus’s finial again as he explained, “Seriously, kid, you have to give my frame a break. It’s gonna be a while before I can overload again.”

Optimus’s servo pulled up along Ratchet’s spike one last time, collecting most of the mess on it before letting go. His optics were dilated and dimmed as he licked Ratchet’s transfluid from his digits, and while Ratchet’s array was momentarily dormant, that didn’t make the sight any less arousing to watch.

And the choked noise Optimus made when Ratchet stroked his finial was the stuff of fantasies.

“Now get up here and let’s see how many overloads I can get outta that big frame of yours in the meantime.”

With a flare of his optics Optimus was moving, quick but uncoordinated. His spike bounced into view, a handful if Ratchet had ever seen one, and lubricant aplenty was streaking down the inside of his thighs.

Ah, to be young again.

Ratchet’s itched to take full advantage of the opportunity to enjoy such a treat.

Ratchet pulled Optimus close and Optimus kissed him, moaning as Ratchet reached down to grasp his spike.

“Just so you know, I’m expecting you to be good with your hands, docbot,” Optimus teased, and Ratchet grinned smugly as his other servo stroked down past Optimus’s aft to reach his drenched valve.

“These hands have been overloading bots since before you were forged, bossbot.”

And, of all things, Optimus snickered, even as his hips jerked, caught between two sources of pleasure.

“Wow. They’ve sure seen a lot then, huh?”

And Ratchet couldn’t fight the full frame laugh that overtook him.

* * *

Dross didn’t come with a hangover the way that engex did. There were no pounding processor aches or frame pain or the anything of the like. Some bots didn’t feel anything at all. Ratchet though would wake with a hollow sort of feeling in his tank. It wasn’t usually due to any actual lack of fuel in his system, but rather just an odd but not uncommon side effect of sobering up from a dross high.

As he drifted out of recharge though, he couldn’t help but wonder if there wasn’t also some apprehension at play as he noticed he was alone in his berth.

Not that there wasn’t still evidence to prove that Ratchet’s memories weren’t faulty. Ol’ Faithful was placed on the berthside table, the ashes of burnt dross still packed into the bowl. The extra pillows and blankets were still on the berth, though now most of them had been neatly folded and stacked at the end of it. The couple of blankets not folded were either draped over Ratchet with enough care that Ratchet knew it hadn’t been his own work, or were outright missing.

If Ratchet had to guess, those missing had probably had some  _very_ incriminating evidence and had been thrown into the wash.

No doubt it had all been Optimus’s doing. Nice of him too.

But Ratchet couldn’t help the pang of disappointment.

* * *

“Hey. Nothing burned down while we were gone, did it?”

Optimus looked up from the datapad in his servos, his optics now their typical shade and brightness. The slight twitching of his lips was at least half forced as he glanced back down at the datapad, waving it a bit for emphasis.

“Not that I’ve seen so far. Prowl did a good job keeping things running.”

“Who’d have guessed?” Ratchet remarked, and at least this time the way that Optimus’s mouth continued to curl seemed genuine.

“Alright, turns out you were right. It wouldn’t kill me or anyone else to take an actual break every once in a while.” Optimus’s smile faded again and, after seeming to take a moment, he placed the datapad in his lap and looked up at Ratchet, every inch of his frame serious. “But listen, Ratchet, I—obviously I got a little  _too_ lax last night, so I apologize if I took advantage–”

“Ah, ah, stop right there,” Ratchet interrupted, lifting a servo to wave the concerns away. “You know I’ve never been one for decorum so don’t worry about it.”

Optimus’s face still screwed up further as he insisted, “But I’m your Prime. I need to worry about this.”

“Since when have we  _ever_ done anything by the book?” It wasn’t the right thing to say considering the stern frown it earned Ratchet, so with a tired sigh Ratchet changed tactic, saying, “Look, sure, I suggested you take a break because I’m your medic and you’re my Prime. That was a part of our professional relationship. But I forced the issue because I care about you, and I smoked with you because I enjoy your company, and frankly? I fragged you because we both wanted to frag each other.”

Finally, Optimus’s expression softened again.

“Really?”

“Really.”

“And you’re not just saying  _that_  because I’m your–”

“Stuff it,” Ratchet growled, and Optimus laughed.

Ratchet fell heavily into the couch beside Optimus, one arm slung along the back, not touching but certainly within close enough range that it would take nothing at all to initiate it.

“So. How long exactly had you been wanting to do that?”

“I mean, look, dross hadn’t been part of the fantasy since, again, I thought it was Bee who was smoking it, but…” Without the dross, there was far more bashfulness to Optimus as he rubbed at the side of his neck, optics flitting from Ratchet’s face to off to some random corner of the room. “A while. Not right away, obviously, since I wanted to get to know you first but… yeah.”

And perhaps the bashfulness was spreading as Ratchet felt his frame heat up.

“Well, that’s flattering, kid. I  _am_ worried that I’m gonna have to do a check up on your processor, or at least your optics–”

“Hah hah, very funny,” Optimus interrupted flatly, knocking his shoulder against Ratchet’s. In truth, Ratchet had only be half teasing, since he still couldn’t see what a mech like Optimus could see in an old rust bucket like him. But there wasn’t time to ruminate on that before Optimus continued, “And you? Was last night just a spur of the moment thing for you, or am I your type too?”

Ratchet gave Optimus an unimpressed look as he said, “Are you kidding? Bossbot, you’re everyone’s type.”

The heat coming off Optimus was palpable as he squirmed, insisting, “That’s  _not_ true at  _all._ ”

“Well it should be. Anyone who doesn’t wanna frag you is a damned idiot and blind to boot.”

Ratchet got another shoulder-to-shoulder shove, though Optimus didn’t move away and he chewed on his bottom lip as he looked sidelong at Ratchet.

“So does that mean you might want to do that again?”

And, just as planned, it took nothing for Ratchet to let his arm fall against the length of Optimus’s broad shoulders, his servo squeezing and tugging him close.

“Honestly, if you hadn’t gone running off so fast this morning, I was planning on illustrating how much more cooperative you’ll find my spike after a good recharge.”

It had been meant to be at least partially self-deprecating, but Optimus’s engine started to genuinely purr and his face moved in closer.

“I mean… Prowl is off today, and Bee and Bulkhead shouldn’t be back any time soon.”

“Bossbot, are you suggesting skipping work to frag?”

The mischievous grin was back, and it took effort to not immediately kiss it.

“I mean, I can still work. I’m a great multitasker.”

“I think you’re underestimating my spike.”

“And I think you’re underestimating how  _really_ good I am at multitasking.”

“Guess we’ll just have to find out.”

Optimus’s helm tilted opposite of Ratchet’s, lips slightly parted, and Ratchet felt nearly dizzy from how they were sober in the light of day and kissing.

And it felt just as easy.


End file.
